


Georgia's wedding date fic

by amaradangeli



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Wedding date, one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: “Carter, why is Daniel in my ear about a wedding for someone I don’t know?”She looks up from the translocation device SG-7 brought back from the mission to ‘896. “Because he wants me to ask you to go with me.”He raises an eyebrow at her. “Why?”





	Georgia's wedding date fic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [dearly beloved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343862) by [samcaarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samcaarter/pseuds/samcaarter). 

> You know how sometimes you read something and it sparks your creativity? Well, it happened! This work was definitely the product of a dash of inspiration and [nicehatgeorgia](http://nicehatgeorgia.tumblr.com/) saying just the right words in the right order. I actually had one of those "hey I could write that!" moments... and then I _did_!

“I know this is ridiculous Sam, but Dave is deep into numerology and I just need to make this happen before he stresses me out any more than he already has.” 

April _ does _ sound really stressed but it’s also really funny and Sam can’t help the deep belly laugh at her friend’s fiancé's expense. “Yes, fine. I’ll bring a friend.” Daniel owes her a favor anyway. 

~*~ 

“Can’t.” He says it around the pencil in his mouth which does sort of sell the idea that he has other things going on. 

“Why not?” She tries to keep the dismay out of her voice, but April rarely asks anything of her, she barely keeps up her end of the friendship bargain to begin with, and Daniel’s practically the only safe date she knows. 

He takes the pencil out of his mouth. “I’m defending the departmental budget at the appropriations committee hearing in Washington.” 

Well, that does sound important. “The wedding is on Saturday.” Maybe he misunderstood the request. 

“And so is our flight.” He shrugs. “Sorry.” 

She can’t exactly ask him to ditch the general’s travel plans. “It’s okay.” 

“Ask Jack.” 

“No.” He’s not stupid so she doesn’t have to explain her answer. 

~*~ 

“Carter, why is Daniel in my ear about a wedding for someone I don’t know?” 

She looks up from the translocation device SG-7 brought back from the mission to ‘896. “Because he wants me to ask you to go with me.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Why?” 

If she tells him about Dave’s deep attachment to numerology he’ll think it’s all a joke. Her chances of making this not weird at all – thanks for the interference, _ Daniel _– increase if she throws herself under the bus. “Because I need a date to this thing and he can’t go with me.” And downplay it. Downplaying is good. 

“And... you don’t want to ask me?” 

Where Daniel is not stupid and therefore Sam didn’t need to explain why taking the colonel was a bad thing, the colonel _ is _ a little stupid about some things. While it’s clear he understands that there are complicated feelings involved in their relationship, he does seem to struggle to understand why she keeps some distance between them. If it were up to him they’d be fishing on vacations and doing regular team movie nights. The slight confusion in his question makes her body hum in a soft, protective way that causes her to be gentler than just pointing out that alcohol plus stupid reception dances make her a horny. “Don’t you think it’s a bad idea?” 

The crooked smile and head tilt that accompanies, “I’ve heard worse,” does not-entirely-unpleasant things to her constitution. 

“The wedding is in Aspen.” She thinks that will make him reconsider. It’s not the road trip she thinks he’d object to. But even he has to agree that a night in a hotel has some potentially complicated opportunities. 

“Well, we’ll have to take my truck. I can’t fold myself into that sports car of yours for three hours.” 

~*~ 

The thing about Aspen is that it’s a real destination. Even outside of skiing season, corporations fill the venues and accommodations for retreats and conventions and conferences. She shouldn’t be surprised when the booking agent tells her there’s one room left at the wedding hotel. She reserves it even though she’s positive the colonel will see the wisdom in backing out of the whole thing, that she’ll have to confess about Dave and his numerology hard-on, and exactly why she’s willing to go through all these gyrations to please a friend. She also half believes they’ll be able to find another room elsewhere. 

~*~ 

“It’s official. Aspen is entirely out of hotel rooms.” The colonel sounds more amused than irritated. 

“That seems extraordinarily unlikely.” 

“Doesn’t it?” 

She wonders if the universe has the ability to conspire against her. “Now what?” 

“Rollaway bed?” 

She sighs, for a person who basically camps for a living, the idea of a cot is almost more than she can take. 

~*~ 

It never occurred to her that the hotel wouldn’t have rollaway beds. Sam finds herself internally agreeing with the disbelieving look on the hotel clerk’s face when she presses the issue. It _ really _ doesn’t make sense that she’s trying so hard _ not _ to sleep with the hot guy standing next to her. The young woman offers directions to a local outdoor outfitter but a glance at her watch reminds her why the traffic delays had been such a worry – most of their getting-ready time had been eaten up on the highway. 

“It doesn’t make sense to buy a sleeping bag for one night in a hotel.” 

The colonel laughs at her. “You mean you considered it?” 

“Well what are we supposed to do?” 

“Share?” 

If they were in uniform she absolutely wouldn’t be giving him the look she knows she is. 

He snags the room cards off the counter. “You’re outa options, Carter. It’s not a big deal.” 

Yeah, well, he’s never seen how she gets after the extended play of the Electric Slide. 

~*~ 

He’s a surprisingly good wedding date. The ceremony was short enough that he never got bored, he provided humorous commentary about the traditional photo poses they could see during the cocktail hour, and not only managed to find their seats while she found the ladies room, but also magically made the pretty, themed wine spritzer next to her place card disappear in favor of a shorter, stouter cocktail. 

The party is fun. April is bubbly and happy and Dave seems pretty relaxed about the reception so Sam assumes the numbers all worked out. The food is really good and the chef apparently went to the Jack O’Neill school of meat charring so he is happy with his steak. When the lights dim and the disco ball over the dancefloor starts to spin, she expects that the easy-natured man next to her will turn squirrely but he doesn’t. 

The important dances happen one after another and the entertainment isn’t bad but when the DJ cues up the first of the line dances Sam’s out of her chair before the intro has finished. From her place on the dance floor she can’t miss the amusement on his face. She realizes she’s probably not the chicken dance poster child, but she can’t help what she likes. 

When the DJ swaps over to a mid-tempo song, she moves to take a seat but finds herself dancing with her CO instead. She's never had so much fun dancing to Maggie May. It goes over so well that they always wind up back on the dance floor even after a few drinks and the cake and the garter toss. He refuses to actually participate even after shoving her towards the overly enthusiastic gaggle of women vying for the boquet (that she purposely doesn’t even attempt to catch). 

It’s a great wedding for a good friend, really. And what could have been a wholly uncomfortable situation with the CO she’s way too attracted to and half too in love with turns out to be one of the most fun dates she’s ever been on. And when the party breaks up just after midnight, she’s not even nervous about the idea of returning to their conspicuously one-bedded room. 

She has so much genuine fun with him that the general low-buzz of arousal that weddings cause become background noise. 

~*~ 

“Door side or window side?” 

She’s elbow deep in her duffle bag, searching for the Chapstick she’s sure she packed. Both have their merits. The bathroom is closer if she’s door side. But she thinks his history would make him prefer the door side in general. Window side is closer to the AC which might be good. 

“I can see you calculating the down percentage of the comforter and let me just tell you right now, that thing is more for looks than warmth. 

“Window,” she decides. She tries not to overthink the way he guessed her train of thought because that way leads to remembering why she feels the way she does about him which leads to remember how much she really likes the way he looks. The way the dark blue suit and soft grey shirt are nearly as provocative as his Blues reinforce exactly how badly she has it for him anyway. 

All night she has done a fairly good job of ignoring how damn handsome he is. She really wishes she’d reserved a little of whatever restraint she’d found earlier. 

She changes while he’s in the bathroom and when she catches a glance at herself in the mirror she wishes the past version of herself who had packed the bag had been a little less responsible. Even though she knows it’s wrong to try to tempt him (and that the fallout could be disastrous), she finds that she still kind of wants to. Besides, Jack O’Neill is the effortless kind of sexy which can, if she thinks about it too hard, be intimidating. 

He chooses to illustrate that effortlessness by exiting the bathroom in a pair of flannel pants, a t-shirt, with his hair sticking out at a dozen different angles and still looking good enough to devour. Strangely, it’s the way his shoulders look _ so good _ that makes her realize that queen sized beds aren’t exactly expansive real estate. 

~*~ 

She doesn’t realize that his laid-back disposition has been an act until they spend ten minutes situating and re-situating themselves in the bed. Her toes brush his shin when she flops from her back to her stomach and the sharpness of his inhale seems to startle him. 

“You said it’s not a big deal.” She wants so badly to have a second opportunity to say those words – one she can use to make the tone joking instead of accusatory. 

Instead of replying in kind, like she set him up for, he just sighs. “It wasn’t. But did you see yourself in that dress tonight?” 

_ That dress _ was the nothing-special cocktail dress she’d pulled from the back of her closet. The one that wasn’t as useful _ or _ sexy as a little black dress. It wasn’t especially exciting or form-fitting or revealing. It wasn’t even a daring color or pattern. It fit well, it was comfortable, and it traveled well enough that she wouldn’t have needed to do anything special upon their arrival in Aspen which was the only reason she’d chosen it to begin with. And apparently he likes her in it. It’s her new favorite, she decides. 

She rolls onto her side to face him. “You liked it?’ 

“I haven’t seen so much of your legs since that time you fell in the peat bog on that planet where we--” 

“Oh, with those _ slugs _ ?” She dissolves into giggles. He characteristically reprimands her while he chuckles deeply and she can feel the way the mattress shakes under them. It hits her how completely _ not wrong _ all of this feels. The hours in the truck that were non-stop, comfortable conversation, they fun they had together at a wedding of all places, lying in bed next to him reminiscing and laughing... 

She realizes that all the things she thought she might feel when it came to sharing a bed with him just aren't the actual culprits. The real danger isn’t that they might throw caution to the wind and quite literally screw the regs. It’s that the entire day just reinforces how she knows that they’re just _ right _ for each other. She wants to feel sad or _ mad _ about it, but she can’t. 

At two in the morning, when they’re still awake, they’re not hot and sweaty and satiated. They’re pressed together – fully clothed – from shoulder to ankle, fingers entwined, sharing previously unrevealed details about their lives. And she’s sure, when she thinks about it later, that she won’t regret the night they could have had but didn’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be fic 100, but I guess it is. Oops.
> 
> Also, I've clearly given up on pithy titles. Well, that was never my forte anyway.
> 
> I'm also very bad at review replies - I definitely reply to comments with questions and those that spark some immediate emotional response. But please know I read every single review (often more than once) and they warm my heart. I trend towards mass replies on tumblr and tag all the people I can match up therein. If you're on tumblr and notice that I don't tag you in those kinds of posts, please make sure I know who you are!


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